Lazy
by hipstertimedork
Summary: drabble / those lazy days in which Clara and her Doctor find themselves taking solace in a library, an old armchair, books, tea and, evidently, each other.


_Lazy_

_Summary: __those lazy days in which Clara and her Doctor find themselves taking solace in a library, an old armchair, books, tea and, evidently, each other._

_Rated: T_

_idk what this is. it started life as a headcanon, then a drabble and then…. this. idk it's hardly coherent and rambly and really just an outlet for my feels but i hope you guys enjoy it too?_

_x_

They spend their free time - those rare, peaceful moments when defending the universe isn't first and foremost on their minds - curled up together in the TARDIS library, squashed into an old armchair designed only for one. It's a glorious mess of arms and legs - four long limbs tangled and entwined together with four short ones - and soft, silvery curls blending with flowing strands of hot chocolate.

x

Sometimes Clara pushes several dusty hardbacks into his hands, insisting that he that he must read to her - ignoring the way he mutters 'bossy' underneath his breath, but starts to read anyway. Her heart flutters lightly against her ribs when she hears his rich Scottish brogue paving out each letter and each chapter of a book she's read maybe hundreds of times before, but never has she heard it quite like this. His voice is like music to the small brunette, and she lets his words wash over her like water - warm and silky and comforting. With his lips at her ear and his long fingers threaded through her hair, it isn't long until she's letting her eyelids slide shut, her little body draped across his torso like a lazy cat.

x

She scalds him with her tea once.

It was an accident; she had moved to get comfortable; mug of tea in one hand and the other griping his shoulder for balance. Only he had shifted beneath her weight suddenly, and she had come tumbling down onto him, her hot drink following suit - covering the floor, the chair, and, unfortunately, the Doctor's legs.

She quickly leaps off him and runs to the TARDIS kitchen to find kitchen roll (or the equivalent of – who knows what one kept on a time-travelling spaceship that's bigger on the inside.) She returns to find his face crumpled with pain, and she kneels to dab carefully at the boiling liquid splayed over his lap. He scowls when she sniggers slightly at his misfortune, leaning back on her heels to look at him; he looks so disgruntled and grumpy - his rebellious hair suddenly wild and unsettled, his eyes piercing and a darker shade of blue than she's used to. But the sight alone only makes her heart swell and her face light up, and she can't help but fling herself at him. She throws her short arms around his lanky body, and covers his face in kisses until she sees the corners of his mouth turn up - his lips curling and eyes softening against his will. She smiles and closes her eyes, digging her fingers into his ribs. And when he finally laughs, it feels like a million fireworks exploding behind her eyelids - brilliant and beautiful and _so so perfect_.

x

On one occasion, she wakes in the middle of the night to find her Doctor settled in their usual spot - nose buried in a book and one long, graceful leg dangling idly over one side of the chair in the most laid-back manner. She stares at him from the doorway, loving the way his eyes soften when they flicker up to meet hers. She claims that she had a nightmare, shuffling her sock clad feet and dressed in nothing but a grey t-shirt and undies. Her hair is unruly from sleep, and her eyes are dark and sad and watery - and he tries hard not to stare. Instead he drops the book onto a desk next to him and extends out his arms for her, and all but falls into his warm body - wrapping her arms around his neck and curling her legs up beneath her. He doesn't question her about the nightmare, knowing that she's sensitive and will choose tell him in her own time; so he presses his face into her hair instead, scattering little kisses along her jaw while she slides her arms down his chest to tangle her fingers with his.

They don't speak - because the Doctor's lips against her skin say so much more than he could ever dare utter, and the tiny, contented sighs that pass through Clara's parted lips are enough to comfort to him - to reduce the anxiety that threatens to consume him whenever he sees the light in her eyes start to dim and her perfect features crease with worry. So he wraps his arms around her protectively, determined to keep her ghosts at bay. His fingers take up their usual habit of threading repeatedly through her hair, dragging his mouth across the softness of her cheek and coming to rest on her lips. Clara breathes out a moan, opening her mouth to his and tugging slightly at his silver locks, imitating the actions of his clever fingers currently on her scalp. She moves slightly so she's straddling his skinny hips - leaning into him and deepening the kiss. She isn't aware of the hand snaking up her shirt until she feels him come into contact with the skin just below her breast. A warm and fuzzy sensation shoots downwards from where his fingers lightly touched her, and she's suddenly tugging relentlessly at his clothes, needing to be as close to his skin as she could possibly ever be.

It's an hour later when they finally fall asleep - a tangle of limbs and naked skin, melting into each other like two pieces of the same puzzle.

They've become each other's whole life now - and it's brilliant, and it's beautiful… and it's so _very_perfect.

x

_so it's not really finished so if anyone has any cute headcanons or whatever that i could write to add to these little drabbles i'll be happy to :)_


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